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Hello! Welcome to my blog. My name is Vashti Quiroz-Vega, for those of you visiting for the first time. I am a writer of Fantasy, Horror, Suspense and Thrillers. I do, however, have a tendency to mix a little Romance and humor (among other genres) into my stories.
I love art, creativity and beauty, and I know these come in many forms. In my quest to build my author platform, I have met and befriended a group of incredibly talented individuals. Writers, poets, bloggers, artists, photographers and even singers who are masterful at what they do. I feel blessed to have found them, and I would be selfish if I kept the beauty, artistry and creativeness of their craft all to myself.
So for the next few weeks I will be featuring their art, writings, photography and music along with my own work on this blog. I guarantee you will enjoy every bit of it.
In today’s post I will feature the talented writer and poet Glendon Perkins.

Glendon wrote this piece when he was struggling with a major decision in his life. His writing touched me deeply, as I am sure it will touch you.

Disconnect

by Glendon Perkins

The nurse walked in, said to me, “It’s time.”

My shoulders slumped. I drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slow. If I could have prevented the moment by holding my breath, I would have.

I followed the nurse through the door and down the hall. While I followed her through the constricting corridors, I focused on the carpet. There was consistency in the bluish-gray carpet; no change. Soon everything would change.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

I hesitated, trying to find the right words. Were there words that could convey how I felt? I’m not sure. I decided a simple response was best. “No.”

“We could try some other things.” Her face was drawn, as though she’d had a long night as well. “I know we could approach the doctor and find something or someone. We could contact Mayo or Johns Hopkins.” Her voice cracked a few times

She hugs me. We stood embracing for several minutes. I broke away first. Time to finish this.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. My emotions were wound as tight as a guitar string, and the slightest plucking would send me into a chorus of tears.

She stopped in the doorway. Pointing at a laptop on a stand she said, “Just press the DISCONNECT button. I’ll leave you with him.” She gave my forearm a pat and a squeeze before walking away.

Despite the warmth of the room, I felt like I had walked into an icebox. Shivers raced across my body, my blood cold, my heart solid ice.

I felt cruel. Was I the Reaper, the Angel of Death? Wasn’t I about to do what he did?

I walked further into the room, making a wide birth around the laptop. I looked up at the life support monitors. Several lines showed vital functions with jagged peaks and valleys. Some consistently moved up and down, others were furious with activity, their readings jumbled and mismatched.

A web of wires and tubes crossed each other and meandered around stainless steel poles and computer monitors. A respirator with a white corrugated tube led to the intubation line. White adhesive patches connected his damaged brain to the EEG machine with wires of several colors. The room smells of copper wire and plastic from life-supporting devices.

I approached his bed with trepidation and sat on the edge. He lay in a beige hospital gown, blankets tucked neatly around his waist. Clear tape secured the IV catheters to his wrists. The intubation tube connected to the tracheotomy.

Wiping my eyes and running nose with my forearm, I found the strength to continue. “The doctors don’t think anything can be—”

I broke down in rivulets of tears, every pent up emotion over the last three months pouring down my face, my head bobbing with each sob.

I was about to turn off machines that kept my father alive. Would I ever find peace again? Would I wake up every night screaming in the darkness? Would every look I received on the street, at work, or from my family and friends be anything but contempt? Worse, what if my dad lay there getting better and the doctors couldn’t see it? Would my dad forgive me? Would he look at me from the Afterlife and ask me, “How could you?”

I choked back my despair. I whispered in his ear, “Dad, I came here to give you peace. I love you.”

Looking at his face, I wondered if he heard me.

I stood, walked over to the laptop, and stared at the screen for a moment. I raised my had to the keyboard, fingers shaking, palms sweating. I slowly lowered my fingers to the mousepad…I pushed DISCONNECT.

I walked back to the chair and sat down. I rested my head on his chest, placed his hand on my face, and felt his pulse and respirations slow, “I love you, Dad. May you be at peace.”

Would I ever have peace?

~by Glendon Perkins

Please check out Glendon’s links below, and if you like smart Horror with lots of suspense, thrills and chills, you’ll love Glendon’s blog novel Buried Alive. It is a must-read for all you Horror fans out there!

beautiful, I enjoyed reading today’s post! I kept wondering who was in that room and then wondering how painful and difficult it must be for someone to push a button under those circumstances. It’s difficult but it’s also something his father would’ve wanted.

Wow, Vashti, I loved the creativity with your poem. The way you went full circle from birth to death was incredible. And the way you painted the picture of the different stages of life were remarkable.

Thank you so much Peter. I’m sorry you had to go through this experience. It’s got to be one of the most difficult experiences anyone has to endure. I hope our work was able to give you a little peace.

Awesome work, I really loved reading Glen’s story – I’ve read it before. It is very touching. And so clever how you have added to this with a clever poem. Very beautiful work. I have shared on twitter etc. 🙂

I have commented on the love and angst of death expressed in Glen’s story in the past. I shook with emotion the first time I read it. The universality of the themes of father and son, life and death are carried out so wonderfully here.

The cycle of life and death is powerful in its own terms, but Vashti, you have added a layer of beauty and strength, fragility and power, love and faith, finality and powerlessness to the expression of this cycle.

I had no idea this post would be so moving! Both Glendon’s piece and then your poem. Both were so moving and together were brilliant.

I can’t imagine ever having to be in that position, and I hope I don’t have to be. I know both of my parents would want that, but I just can’t imagine it. I’m glad I wouldn’t have to be the one physically doing the disconnecting, although giving the order is essentially the same thing.

Thank you very much Lisa. I too think about this from time to time because like your parents mine want the same thing too. It is hard to imagine. Thank you so much for stopping by. I appreciate your comment. ❤

I absolutely adore it, the poem seems to be a direct corollary of the story and corroborates all the emotions and sentiments pertaining to it. Fortunately, I have not felt the loss of any pedagogic or progenic element of my life, and thus unfortunately, I can not venture to write any further on both these efforts. To me, both the aforedisplayed works are wonderful and quite moving.

What a touching post by Glendon. I was in tears! Just to go through the emotion of having to be the one to disconnect would be a terrible feeling. Thank you for introducing us to Glendon at My Favorite Posts SHOW OFF Weekend Blog Party!

Hi Jessica! I had the same reaction when I first read his story. It is a very difficult situation. I was happy to introduce Glendon to the girls. I’ll see you at the next Blog Party! Thank you for stopping by.

Holly, thank you. It was definitely a difficult situation to agree to, but thankfully I haven’t had to perform such a task yet. That being said, my mind struggled with the idea of being responsible I finally had to write about it.

I’m so glad you shared this at the 10th Blogiversary party I am cohosting. Powerful stuff. A terrible responsibility, but I definitely want someone to do it for me. This is why we make it really clear to our loved ones what we want.